


City of Intrigues

by youregonnabefine



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Noir, Attempted Sexual Assault, Eventual Romance, Eventual Triss/Geralt, Eventual Yennefer/Geralt, F/M, Film Noir, Mystery, not graphic though - see chp 3 CW, the gang's all here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youregonnabefine/pseuds/youregonnabefine
Summary: Geralt had been in the business for nearly a decade. Prior to this, a bloodbath of a war had cleared through the area. He’d played the part of a loyal soldier and fought alongside his brothers and just like everyone else. But now they were gone. Eskel, Lambert, even General Vesemir… dead, and for what? The war was gone, but this land still knew no peace. Geralt wasn’t a soldier anymore, though he did still carry a gun. Now he hunted monsters. Monsters like the men who profit from bloodshed, and who freely terrorize believing that there’s no one left to stop them. Geralt would rid this city of every last one of them.Geralt is Private Eye who gets tangled up in a case involving all the faves. This will be about 8 chapters and will cover some main character backstory/plot points from the show and Witcher 3, so beware of thinly-veiled spoilers I guess. Because it's my AU and I can do what I want, Yennefer, Ciri, and Triss are characterized more like Witcher 3, and Jaskier is more like the TV show. Geralt is, well... Geralt. He mostly just grumbles. I am posting as I write so I will also be editing posted chapters to make sure the mystery makes sense!All of my chapter titles are from the soundtrack.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Fate Calls

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I should add any CWs to any chapters please let me know!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Film Noir Witcher Art (not my own) https://www.artstation.com/artwork/eDLOG
> 
> Pretty much bang on how I imagine Triss and Geralt. Yen and Ciri not so much. I might fuck around and make a collage likes it's 2013.

Geralt sat with his boots kicked up onto his desk, the orange glow from the streetlight outside fragmented across his face by the shadows from his venetian blinds. In his hand he nursed a glass of scotch, no ice. How late was it - nine, ten p.m.? He supposed he should be returning to his unfortunate one-bedroom sometime soon, but something kept his gaze fixed on his office door. He had a feeling that the night was not over. He smoothed a hand down the wrinkles of his loosened tie and took another sip.

That’s when she arrived, her trim silhouette darkening the wavy glass pane, stopping just short the engraving, “Geralt O’Rivia, Licensed Private Eye”. 

Geralt had been in the business for nearly a decade. Prior to this, a bloodbath of a war had cleared through the area. He’d played the part of a loyal, fearsome soldier and fought alongside his brothers and just like everyone else. But now they were gone. Eskel, Lambert, even General Vesemir… dead, and for what? The war was gone, but this land still knew no peace. Geralt wasn’t a soldier anymore, though he did still carry a gun. Now he hunted monsters. Monsters like the men who profit from bloodshed, and who freely terrorize believing that there’s no one left to stop them. Geralt would rid this city of every last one of them. 

The woman’s gentle knock on the door lifted Geralt’s gaze from his scotch. “Come in,” he growled.

The door opened and revealed a petite woman in a fur coat. Her auburn hair was tucked into a swirling bun to the side of her neck, and she raised a green gloved hand to release the button of her coat as she took the empty seat across from Geralt. Geralt slowly removed his feet from his desk and sat forward.

“You’re Geralt O’Rivia, the private detective?” the pale woman spoke in a soft, controlled voice. Her eyes were wide like a doe’s, and her lipstick was bold, almost the color of blood. 

Geralt nodded.

“I am --”

“I know who you are, Ms. Merigold,” Geralt interrupted. “They’ve been advertising your new picture at the theatre down the street from me for weeks. What do you need a private eye for?”

Ms. Merigold smiled humbly at the nod to her celebrity. Then she clasped her hands in her lap and looked Geralt straight in the eye. “Something dear to me has been stolen and I’d like you to get it back.”

Geralt grunted. “That’s not my usual workload.”

“I’m aware of your reputation,” the movie star countered, “you come highly recommended, both for the strength of your wit and the force of your left hook. And while this case may indeed be below your standards, I promise it will not pay that way.”

Geralt took another sip of his scotch, contemplating the offer. “What’s been stolen?”

“A trunk full of precious family heirlooms. I recently had it shipped to me and it was in my dressing room until eleven o’clock this morning when it disappeared.”

“It went missing this morning and you’re only reaching out now. Why?”

“I contacted the police as soon as I noticed it was gone, but the men they sent over seemed less interested in retrieving my valuables and more interested in ogling my figure. I threw them out and reached out to my network for the name of someone who could handle this with a little more tact. It took a few hours but your name and address finally made its way to me. Will you take this case?”

Geralt glanced at his empty glass and thought of returning home to his cramped apartment. He wasn’t in a position to be turning away wealthy women in need of help, no matter how trivial the case. “I’ll need to investigate where the trunk was stolen from.”

Ms. Merigold smiled. “You can drop by the studio tomorrow at noon. I’ll tell security to expect you.” The movie star stood, graceful, and re-clasped the top button of her coat. “There’s one more thing, detective. The trunk is very securely locked, so you won’t be able to identify it by its contents. However, there is a distinct engraving on the lid, one-of-a-kind.” She reached into her coat and withdrew a page with a sketch of an intricate square pattern almost resembling a Celtic knot. “Find the trunk with that carving, return it to me, and I’ll reward you handsomely.”

Geralt studied the page for a moment, before looking up to watch the redhead turn towards the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Ms. Merigold,” he nodded.

She turned, her green glove resting on the brass door handle. “It’s Triss, please.”

Geralt nodded. Triss smiled once more before closing the door behind her. 

\--

“Hey Geralt, care to share why Triss Merigold paid you a visit this evening?”

Geralt growled under his breath as he locked the door to his office building behind him. This young reporter had been pestering him for weeks, hoping for details on his latest cases. He was a nuisance.  
As if proving his point, the kid matched pace with Geralt as he marched towards his car, his clunky camera slung around his neck and his notepad in hand. “Come on Geralt, you know you get better business whenever I write a piece about you.”

Geralt stepped around to the driver’s side door. The kid had the nerve to step in his way before he could reach the handle. Geralt narrowed his eyes and bullied past him anyway. The kid stumbled to the side, clutching his camera dramatically. “Watch it!”

Geralt slid onto the stiff seat of his car and began to start it up. The reporter's fingers tapped lightly on the glass of his window. “Just let me shadow you for one day. I’ll be doing you a favor!”

Geralt reached to the door and stiffly wound the crank to roll down the window. “Jaskier. You turn my cases into far fetched tales of heroism so that your editor will put your stories on the front page. I’d be doing you a favor.”

Jaskier flashed a cheeky smile. “So it’s mutually beneficial. Where’s the harm in that?”

Geralt huffed and put the car in drive. "Get lost, kid."

Jaskier stepped back from the window a half-second before Geralt’s car peeled away. Geralt watched his figure disappear in his mirror. Nothing but a nuisance. 

\--

Geralt lit a cigarette and adjusted the angle of his cap. The sun was beating down hard on the studio backlot, and he’d woken with an unforgivable hangover. Two glasses of scotch and his body was livid - just another unwelcome sign he was getting old.

Triss Merigold was twenty minutes late and counting, an assistant mentioned something about a scene running long and told him to wait by the entrance to the stage. Geralt had started to get antsy ten minutes ago. By now he was ready to bolt. 

A loud buzzer rang from inside the sound stage and suddenly the doors flew open in a rush of commotion. Geralt waited for the way to be clear before heading inside. The set was smaller than he’d imagined, though having never been in a movie studio before he hadn’t known what to expect. The scene appeared to be on top of some kind of bell tower with a city skyline behind it. Triss was standing amongst the scenery, talking to an older man with a script in his hands. Geralt finished his cigarette before approaching the actress. 

“Geralt, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” the redhead cooed, shooing away the other man. 

Geralt stepped into the scene and examined the fake belltower. “Why the holdup?”

Triss leaned on one of the tower walls and withdrew a pack of smokes and a long cigarette holder from a pocket somewhere within her dress. “Studio politics, an argument over proprieties… it’s all very boring I assure you.”

Geralt nodded. In the light of the stage, Triss seemed to glow with beauty. He was starting to understand why they kept putting her in all the films. He returned his attention to the matter at hand. “Where’s the dressing room?”

Triss raised an eyebrow. “Focused and to the point, you’re a breath of fresh air.”

Geralt smirked inwardly, observing the chaos of the crew members around him. Triss held out her cigarette and Geralt flicked open his lighter. She leaned in closely while waiting for it to catch. Geralt breathed in her perfume with the smell of the hot studio lights. 

Triss took an elegant drag of her cigarette and eyed up Geralt, standing stiffly in the fake belltower, the heat of the studio drawing a layer of sweat to his strong brow. Then she nodded over her shoulder and stepped off the set. “This way, Ace. Don’t get lost." 

\--

It took all of half an hour for Geralt to determine what had happened with the trunk. It was obvious someone with keys to the dressing room and knowledge of the trunk’s value had snuck in during a rehearsal on the main stage. Marks in the hallway were consistent with an overburdened hand cart, and they led to a back door near the loading bay. The security records from the studio gate showed a catering van had entered around the time of the rehearsal and left too soon after to have set up any substantial amount of food. A quick interview with a studio assistant revealed that many caterers have unfettered access to the dressing rooms in order to deliver private meals. The name of the catering company was “Fat Louie’s Dining”, and they operated out of a warehouse by the docks. Geralt would bet any amount of money that the trunk was somewhere in that warehouse. Still, when Triss had asked how the investigation was going before he’d left the studio, he’d remained tight-lipped. It had never worked out well for him to get a client’s hopes up too early. 

Geralt was walking to his car, parked on a street near the studio, when he heard the unmistakable sounds of a brawl beginning. He paused, the sound of the scuffle coming from around a nearby corner. It sounded like two scrappy fighters trying to land punches while a few spectators cheered on one party. When he heard a punch land, and then an unmistakable voice shout "How d'you like it now, Billy?", Geralt sighed and marched steadily towards the alley.

Rounding the corner, his theory was confirmed. Geralt watched from the shadows as three boys, nineteen at the oldest, stood around jeering while another of their pack faced off against one spry and light-haired girl. And things were not going well for the fellow. The young woman landed another blow to his side, then swept her leg under his to topple him to the ground. The spectators kept their mouths shut.

"Is that all you got?" the girl teased as the boy struggled to get to his feet. As soon as he saw him reclaim his fighting stance, Geralt stepped from the shadows and delivered a swift blow to the boy’s ribcage, knocking the wind right out of him. The boy collapsed again, clinging to his side in pain. The young woman looked to Geralt, clearly disappointed.

"What'd you do that for?" 

"Let’s go,” Geralt stared the girl down and nodded to his car.

“But--”

“Ciri, I’m not asking.”

The young woman pouted but followed Geralt out to the street nonetheless. 

“I had it handled, you know,” Ciri complained as she climbed into the passenger seat.

Geralt shook his head. He knew she was right, but that didn’t make him any more comfortable with the situation. “Do I even want to know how it started?” 

“Billy and his crew owe me some money is all. I threatened to kick their sorry asses if they didn’t get it to me by tomorrow, and Billy seemed to think that was funny. So I showed him just how funny I could be.” Ciri adjusted her white shirt, tucking loose places back into her tall trousers. 

Geralt sighed and started the car. Ciri had grown up into the young woman he had been terrified she’d become. She was scrappy, tough as nails, and didn’t let anybody push her around. And her confidence led her to dangerous situations. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she fixed a lock of light hair that had fallen from her bun. He could still see the face of the little street urchin who had tried to steal from him a decade ago. What could he have done differently to set her on a better path? He’d gained her trust a long time ago, but had never found a way to materialize that into different circumstances for her. Safer circumstances.

“Still running with the Raven’s Brigade?” Geralt broke the silence after a few minutes of driving through the city.

Ciri nodded, looking out the window at the dark buildings and the dirty streets. “You have a meeting. She requested it. Nine p.m. at the Purple Swan.”

Geralt grunted. “Are you her personal errand boy now?”

“Somewhere between an executive assistant and a bodyguard, actually.” Ciri shot Geralt a testing look. “It’s nice to have someone who sees my value.”

Geralt returned his attention to the road. “Be careful around her, Ciri. She’s more dangerous than she seems.”

Ciri smirked. “She said you’d say that.”

Geralt sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. A meeting with the Raven, looks like his trip to the portlands would have to be delayed.


	2. Lair of the Beast

The Purple Swan was the last place Geralt wanted to be. The dance floor was full of happy couples twirling into and out of each other’s arms as the jazz band played a tune so cheery Geralt thought he might turn to stone. Luckily, the Raven’s office was up a flight of black plush carpeted stairs, removed from and overlooking the entire club. Geralt climbed the stairs slowly, not at all looking forward to this meeting. He didn’t know what time it was but it was certainly after nine. He’d lost track of time surveilling a local arm’s dealer out gambling with his buddies, and he hadn’t exactly been in a hurry to see the Raven in the first place.

He opened the private door as he reached it, not bothering to knock. She stood at the large bay of windows overlooking the dancefloor and didn’t seem surprised by his intrusion. She’d probably been watching him from the minute he entered the Swan. 

“You’re late, Geralt.” Her cold voice was punctuated by a shake of the ice in her whiskey glass.

“And you know how I hate to keep a lady waiting,” Geralt sneered, making himself at home by the private bar. 

The office was smaller than it appeared from the dancefloor, or maybe that was just the effect the dark furnishings had on the room. There was the bar in one corner, where Geralt sat, and next to that a seating area with a black chaise and some dark purple chairs. Past those was an ornate wooden desk paired with a tall-backed leather seat and several stretching bookshelves. The music from the club could be heard muted through the windows, interrupted by the occasional cheers and laughter from the patrons below. Geralt poured himself a glass of an impressive bourbon. 

“This will be a quick meeting,” the Raven turned from the window and strode to the seat behind her desk. The skirt of her thick black dress hugged tightly at her hips, and the white and black checkered jacket she wore over top indicated she had a long night of business affairs ahead of her. Geralt regretted that he’d become so familiar with her, though most of their contact these days was against his will.

“The Baron is rumored to have brought something big into the city. A shipment of some kind, something valuable and important to him. I want you to intercept it and bring it to me.” 

“I’m not your lackey, send some of your men,” Geralt stood from the bar and moved slowly across the room towards her desk.

“This must be handled with the highest degree of discretion. If the thief were to get caught, they could have no ties to me or it would be the first strike in a new gang war.” The Raven looked up from her open ledger. “You owe me.”

Geralt scoffed. “That’s never been true.”

The Raven crossed her arms. “Does the name Three Jackdaws ring a bell? Remember when I helped you out of that little pickle called certain death?”

“And in return, I showed you the vault with a certain Faberge egg. You seemed more than satisfied then,” Geralt smirked, “if your expression of gratitude was any indication.” That vault had been one of the last times they’d connected, almost nine years ago. The Raven’s Brigade had barely existed then, now it controlled half the city and Geralt could barely recognize the woman sitting before him. 

She scowled. “Fine then. Think of it as part of your code. The Baron is a monster and removing this item from his care will be like cutting off a limb.”

“And feeding that limb to a different beast.” Anger flashed in the Raven’s eyes. Geralt felt a faint pang of remorse, somewhere behind the bourbon and the sight of the flush that rose on her cheeks. He dropped his smile. “Yen…”

“You know how I feel about that name,” she spat coldly.

Geralt growled and walked towards the window. Below him, the patrons danced on. 

Her voice cut through the muffled music. “I’ll owe you a favor.”

These words gave Geralt pause. He searched his memories for a time when Yen had offered something similar and found nothing. Geralt turned to face her, and they each observed the other from across the room, testing the sincerity in each other's eyes. The deal hung in the air, too good to refuse.

“Fine.” Geralt finished his drink and walked over to the desk, leaving the empty cup in front of her. “Where can I find the shipment?”

\--

Geralt approached the door to his office holding a manila envelope from Yennefer that contained information on the Baron and the shipment. He'd told her that he'd read through it later and get on the case as soon as he had a free moment. That moment was not now. Now, he needed to stuff this file in a drawer and have another drink, alone this time. Maybe he would sleep in his office. The thought of going home just seemed too tall an order, his head too full of the memories seeing her always dragged up. Not just their relationship, but the war, the grief… things that change a man.

Geralt nearly missed it, but for a moment a dark shadow moved past the door to his office. He instinctively reached for his pistol, drawing it silently and taking slow, steady paces towards the door. With his back against the wall, he reached a steady hand towards the handle and held his pistol aimed and ready with the other. His senses pulled sharply to the present moment, he swung open the door and threw his body into the office, pistol first. 

"Geralt, about time!" Jaskier sat in Geralt's guest chair, his hands raised in reaction to the weapon, and an open tumbler of scotch on the desk beside him.

Geralt lowered his gun and felt frustration immediately replace his adrenaline. "I could call the cops."

"Wouldn't get you anywhere though, I've made friends with all of them," Jaskier grinned.

Geralt grunted and threw his jacket and the envelope onto his desk. "I find that hard to believe."

Jaskier reached behind him to a cabinet and withdrew a second whiskey glass, and passed it and the tumbler to Geralt across the desk. Geralt poured a generous amount of scotch before returning the tumbler to a shelf and taking a seat. Ignoring Jaskier entirely, he kicked his feet up and shut his eyes. 

"Aren't you gonna ask how I got in?" Jaskier asked excitedly.

"No," Geralt grunted, his eyes still shut.

"Why not?"

"Can't afford to have the locks changed, so what would be the point?"

"You can't seriously expect me to believe Triss Merigold isn't paying you a small fortune."

Geralt cracked an eye open and studied the young man. He was wearing a too-stylish suit that was starting to wear through the sleeves, and his outfit was wrinkled like he'd been sitting in the same place for a while. It brought Geralt some mild satisfaction to know he'd kept the kid waiting. 

"You're wasting your time, Jaskier," Geralt said after a sip of bourbon. "The Merigold case is nothing to bark about."

"So there is a case," Jaskier countered.

Geralt scowled. "Barely."

Jaskier leaned forward and waved his arms as he spoke. "So then you have nothing to worry about! Let me shadow you tomorrow while you work and you can prove to me how barely there this case is. And if you're right, I'll leave you alone for a week."

"A year."

"A month."

Geralt knew he would regret this. "Fine."

\--

"Come in," the Raven commanded at the sound of a knock on her door.

She didn't bother to stand from her desk. The night so far had been exhausting, and now the first glimpses of daylight were beginning to show themselves. Incrediblely inconsiderate of them.

Her guest took a seat across the desk.

"What's your report?" She demanded.

"He hasn't even touched the file. He got drunk with a reporter from the Chronicle and it seems they have plans for something in the portlands tomorrow." 

The Raven nodded. Typical Geralt, ignoring the truly important work to go pal around instead.

The Raven smiled a cold smile. "Let's see if we can redirect his attention."


	3. I'm Helping the Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes for Content Warning

The skies were overcast and a driving wind had kicked up by the docks where Geralt stood, waiting for Jaskier. The daylight was vanishing quickly with the late hour and the sour weather. His long coat billowed in the wind around him, and he kept a steady hand on his cap. A cab pulled to the curb not far from the Private Eye and he watched Jaskier scramble out the door notepad first, and turn back to hand the cabbie a small sum of change. The reporter was wearing the same ridiculous suit as the night before, though he had swapped in a new shirt and tie. He waved enthusiastically to Geralt as the cab sped away, and Geralt scowled and walked towards the warehouses. He’d stressed discretion when he’d instructed the kid to leave his camera at home, but somehow he didn’t think the heart of that message had landed. 

Jaskier’s bounding steps caught up quickly with Geralt’s methodical paces and they crossed the street to a row of warehouses together. 

“So,” Jaskier began, “what are we investigating?”

“A catering company,” Geralt growled, “and there is no  _ we _ .”

“Ah, is this a death by chocolate situation? Or perhaps a menu not of  _ poisson _ but poison?” The reporter’s eyes sparkled with inspiration.

“Robbery.” Geralt took a small joy in watching the kid’s smile falter. “I hate to let you down, but this should be pretty cut and dry.”

Geralt had reached a lot with one building and several vans parked out front adorned in the logo for Fat Louie’s Dining. He kept near the fence at the edge of the lot and watched a man exit the main doors carrying a wooden crate towards a van. 

“Stay close, and keep quiet,” Geralt instructed. The reporter nodded.

Keeping near the fence, Geralt scouted around the edge of the lot, wind whipping against his close trimmed beard as he turned a corner around the building.This side of the lot was barren and narrow, not even a window into the warehouse. He kept on towards the next edge of the lot.

“So what was stolen? And from who? And how is Triss Merigold involved?” Jaskier whisper-shouted above the howl of the wind.

Geralt grimaced and didn’t bother to dignify the kid with a response. He paused at the end of this side of the warehouse and motioned for Jaskier to press his back against the brick wall like he was doing. Then he inched forward and poked his head around the corner. The back of the warehouse had a smaller door, and it was propped open with a pack of cigarettes. Off to the very back of the lot, a man in a stained apron was relieving himself next to a dumpster, his back turned to the door. Geralt motioned for Jaskier to stay put as he silently snuck around the corner and towards the door. 

At the crunch of shoes on gravel behind him, Geralt turned his head sharply and glared at the kid, who was close behind. Jaskier shot an equally defiant look at Geralt. Geralt scowled, deeply, and finished making his way up the stairs. As he reached the door, Geralt reached for the cigarettes and cracked open the door as silently as possible. Once it was wide enough for him to squeeze through he whispered to Jaskier, “Is he still pissing?”

Jaskier turned his head to check and in that instant Geralt slid inside, tossed the cigarettes out and shut the door. As he walked away from the exit he could hear muffled voices from outside. He wasn’t worried, to his credit Jaskier could talk his way out of anything. What he couldn’t do was sneak around a building without alerting anyone. 

Geralt crept down the long empty hallway. Judging by the noise, the bulk of the activity was centered around the front of the building. Geralt hoped that meant that administrative records could be found somewhere nearby. It took a few tries but he eventually found a room with a chalkboard adorned in scribbled schedules. Around the room laid boxes of folders. He closed the door behind him and began to poke through the folders nearest the chalkboard. In short time he found the file for the day of the robbery, which had the liscence plate of a van whose driver had taken a lunch break at the corresponding time. Geralt glanced to the board, the van and driver were picking up dishes from a banquet hall and wouldn't be back for another hour. Geralt made note of the schedule for tomorrow. He would bet good money that crate was still in that van.

"Let's go." Geralt hooked Jaskier by the back of the collar as he marched down the backlot stairs. 

Geralt shrugged out of the larger man's grasp. "I was supposed to shadow you!"

"Hard to be a shadow when you're dressed like a peacock." Geralt fished out a cigarette.

"I could've been arrested!" Jaskier protested.

"I thought you were friends with all the cops," Geralt teased. He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke behind him.

"I am but -- would you watch it with that?" Jaskier waved the smoke out of his face and hopped over to follow on Geralt's other side. 

Before Geralt could respond, a scream pierced the air.

Geralt's hand flew instinctively to his pistol, unbuttoning the holster hanging from his shoulder as he sprinted across the lot and out to the street. The scream had come from the docks. Geralt could hear the flailing steps of Jaskier keeping pace behind him as he pivoted from the road to the dockyard. The wind knocked his hat off, and his white hair fell loosely over his sweaty brow.

"Please, no, please!" The stammered cries for mercy set Geralt's skin on fire. He drew his weapon and held it ahead of him as he whipped around a corner to find Ciri, backed up against a stone wall, and a large figure with rolled up sleeves closing in on her. Geralt fired a warning shot over the man's ear, the bullet chipping stone wall beyond him. The man spun on his heel, eyes wide, and glanced terrified from Geralt, to Ciri, and then to chip in the wall. Then he bolted.

His fleeting steps echoed across the empty dockyard as Geralt holstered his gun. He stared Ciri down with a seething glare.

"Holy shit."

Geralt had completely forgotten about the reporter. He turned to see Jaskier with his pen to his notebook, jaw dropped in shock.

Ciri flew to Geralt's side and draped her arms around him. "You saved me! My hero! Like a knight in shining armor! How will I ever repay you?"

Geralt tore himself from her grip and glared at her hidden smirk. 

"Front page, guaranteed!" Jaskier was nearly bubbling with joy. "Geralt the valiant rescues… What's your name miss?"

"Sophia," Ciri lied as naturally as she breathed. 

The reporter scribbled furiously in his notebook. "Oh! If only I'd had my camera, Geralt why didn't you let me bring my camera!"

"Scram," Geralt grumbled, staring daggers at Jaskier.

"But--"

"I'll walk the lady home, you'll distress her with your questions."

Jaskier looked from Ciri to Geralt, then made one last scribble in his notepad before tucking it away and running off. 

Ciri strode over to the wall and leaned against it, arms crossed.

"What the hell was that all about." Geralt stood plainly facing Ciri, the wind catching in his loose hair and coat.

Ciri shot him an innocent look.

"Don't think I didn't recognize that buster from your little fistfight the other day. One of Billy's crew?"

Ciri smirked. "You almost shot him. I wasn't expecting that."

Geralt glanced to the chip in the stone left by his bullet. "Whatever this bullshit charade was it was plain stupid. Was there even a point?" 

Ciri pushed herself off the wall and walked back to the main stretch of the dockyard. Geralt followed slowly.

"The Raven asked me to follow you." Ciri's voice was raised to cut above the howling wind and the waves.

"Predictable," Geralt muttered. 

Ciri walked to the edge of the water and stared down at where the waves crashed against the docks.

"She's displeased with your progress on the case she gave you." 

"It's been less than 24 hours." 

Ciri shrugged.

"You still haven't explained the tableau."

"Billy's working off his debts to me as a bodyguard, not that I need one. Still, doesn't hurt to have an extra body around when I've got to follow you to all the shitholes you visit. Yen had told me to find a way to get your attention. I saw that little dandy was following you around and figured I could get him off your back and get your attention at the same time."

"She was probably hoping for a more subtle approach." Geralt chided, mostly to hide a smile at the notion that Ciri had intervened to chase away Jaskier. And that it had worked. He would have a story for his paper and their deal would hold, it would be a month before he saw one of those horrendous suits again.

Ciri turned to Geralt. "Would you just do  _ something  _ useful that I can report back to the Raven? I want to get back to real work, I'm kind of over trailing a middle-aged alcoholic P.I."

Geralt rolled his eyes. "I'll read the file tonight. Want a lift somewhere?"

"Yes please!" Ciri flashed a bright smile, then she took off running towards the car.

Geralt closed the driver's side door and fished for the keys in his pocket.

"Feet off." He grumbled.

Ciri sighed dramatically and removed her feet from the dashboard. "Can I stay at yours? Just for the night."

"No."

"Why not?"

Geralt found his keys and lit the ignition. "Because I don't need the Raven knowing the count of my snores and their exact decibel."

Ciri pouted and stared out the window. Thunder rolled in the distance and soon fat raindrops marked the car's windshield. 

"Fine," Geralt sighed as they exited the portlands, "only for the night."

\--

"Madame, you have a visitor."

Triss Merigold smiled at her Butler through her vanity mirror. "Thank you, Francois. Is he seated in the parlor?"

"No Madame, he was quite dirty from the rain and his uniform. He waits in the kitchen. And I insisted he park his van down the street. Such an ugly thing."

Triss reached for a bold shade of red lipstick and popped the cap off. "Tell him I'll be right with him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Attempted Sexual Assault (SPOILERS: actually though, it's all a ruse, no one is actually in danger)


End file.
